Mother Mother Ocean
by kyrdwyn
Summary: Trip's thoughts on another crewmember's place on Enterprise


Title: Mother Mother Ocean

Author: kyrdwyn

Fandom: Enterprise

Rating: PG

Summary: Trip's thoughts on another crewmember's place on Enterprise.

Spoilers: Minor for "Fallen Hero", "Silent Enemy", and "Shuttlepod One"

Feedback: please!

Author's Notes/Disclaimer:  What is it about Jimmy Buffett that makes me want to write?  Anyway, I'm playing with Paramount's toys without permission.  And Jimmy Buffett's toy, too.  First Enterprise fic, so please, be somewhat kind.  Writing in Southern accent isn't easy….

~~~~~~~****~~~~~~~

_I have to have *some*thing to do on this ship, Commander._

The plaintive note in Malcolm's voice had reminded me that his position on board _Enterprise_ was uncertain at best.  He was the man of the hour when we encountered hostiles, but other than that, he was, as my granddaddy would say, the redheaded step child of the crew.  An' while I don't wanna see Malcolm overworked, 'cause that means aliens are tryin' ta kick our asses from here to breakfast, I hate seein' him bored.  Nothin' worse than a bored armory officer.  'Course, when he's bored he tends ta improve our weapons beyond what my fellow engineers dreamed of.  But he also gets antsy, snapping at his people, an' mine, come ta think of it.  Since weapons and engines are tied together along the power lines, our people gotta work closely.  Wouldn't do to replace a damaged power coupling with one that'll keep the impulse drive hummin' but'll blow out the torpedo launchers in a firefight.  An' maybe take us with it.

It's been a quiet three weeks now.  No hostiles, nobody takin' the Cap'n or me or T'Pol hostage, heck, even Dr. Phlox's bat has been quiet.  An' every day that goes by, Malcolm looks a little more in the dumps.  Or as much in the dumps as his reserved British upbringin' will allow him ta show.  Maybe I've just been watchin' him too much these past weeks, so I kin see it where others might miss it.  

Funny, looking at Malcolm I'm reminded of a singer that my sister used ta listen to.  He'd lived around where we grew up, the Florida Keys, but back before the war and the Vulcans an' everything.  He sang a lot about sailin' and good times and fun.  Things me an' my sister both enjoyed.  

But there was one song a' his that I've started ta put with Malcolm - or at least some of it matches Malcolm.  In fact, I'd found the song last night while I was cleanin' up my quarters, and played it again, just ta make sure.  I was right - change the words around a bit an' ya got Malcolm.  A man who was probably born too many years too late for the occupation he has.  

I kin see why Malcolm didn't join the Royal Navy - too tame.  But Starfleet ain't exactly challenging him the way he'd hoped, I bet.  Yeah, he gets ta see new aliens an' new weapons, but if the ship ain't in danger, he ain't doin' his job.

I wonder if Malcolm's ever considered resignin' his commission and taking up on a boomer ship or somethin' where being quick on the trigger is an asset.  Someplace where his love of tactics and weapons wouldn't be all that wasted.  

Don't get me wrong, I know the Cap'n appreciates all that Malcolm's done to keep this ship and her crew alive.  Hell, I appreciate all he's done to keep my ass alive more than once - includin' not lettin' me kill myself in that damned shuttlepod.  I don't think Malcolm realizes that the whole deal with his birthday was more than the Cap'n's usual friendly manner with his crew.  An' it wasn't about trying to crack some of Malcolm's shell.

I want to do something for Malcolm to show that he really is part of the team, Trip.  I mean, everyone else on the senior staff gets to use their expertise on a daily basis it seems, except Malcolm.  I sometimes can't help but wonder if Malcolm wonders why he's even here.

So Jon wanted to show Malcolm in some way that his expertise is appreciated, even if the Cap'n thinks he's bein' paranoid.  Making sure Malcolm had his fav'rite food for his birthday was the best way he could think of, since we both knew Malcolm wouldn't appreciate a full-blown party.

I'm sittin' here now, listenin' to this song again.  Wonder if Malcolm'd appreciate me copyin' it to a data solid for him.  Then again, he may not want to be reminded of the fact that, as the singer put it, his occupational hazard is that his occupation's just not around.  

An' it isn't.  Starfleet will always need captain's an' engineers an' science officers an' whatnot.  But the whole point behind peaceful exploration an' makin' friends is to not need people holdin' Malcolm's position.  He's out here helpin' to end his own career.

Turning up the music, I listen again to the last lines of the song.

_Mother, Mother Ocean_

_After all the years I've found_

_My occupational hazard is _

_My occupation's just not around_

_Feel like I've drowned._

Wonder if Malcolm feels the same.  


End file.
